


Passenger Seat

by winterisakiller (sparkinside)



Series: Last Minutes &  Lost Evenings [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston (Fandom)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 19:59:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16604537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkinside/pseuds/winterisakiller
Summary: Relationships end. It’s the risk you take. He knew that. Knew it far better than he’d like to admit to anyone, least of all himself. But why did it have to hurt so badly when they did?





	Passenger Seat

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into writing for this fandom and after nearly a year of reading my muse had an idea. So I ran with it and here we are. This is unbetaed so if there are errors I do apologize.
> 
> The title and lyrics piece comes from an Arkell's song of the same name. They are truly a fantastic band and are very much worth checking out.
> 
> While this is a standalone piece, a snapshot in time if you will, and is complete, I have more that time, and muse, allowing, to explore with these two.

 

_Driving on the highway home, this time alone_  
_Doesn’t mean the same without you_  
_I turned on the radio to something slow, just to let it fuck with my mood_  
_And songs don’t sound the same without you in the passenger seat_  
_Without you in the passenger seat_

  
_Relationships end. It’s the risk you take. He knew that. Knew it far better than he’d like to admit to anyone, least of all himself. But why did it have to hurt so badly when they did?_

He’d known going into this that things would be difficult. They came from two very different worlds, lived two very different lives. But there has been something about her. Something that had drawn him in. Something that he hadn’t been able to walk away from.

So he didn’t.

And it had been wonderful. For a time at least. They met whenever he could get away. Mostly at her tiny apartment. It was a small slice of heaven. He could just be himself. No cameras, no questions, no outlandish expectations. He was simply ‘Tom’ to her. Just Tom who would sit for hours in her living room reading and talking, sharing himself with her in almost every way possible. He didn’t have to be ‘Tom Hiddleston’; always on, always watching what he said, what he did. It was refreshing. He could be himself, if only for brief snatches of time. And it was something he had come to cherish.

He could relax when they were together. It was simple and undemanding and he loved it. She was there when he needed her; warm and open and beautiful in her simplicity.

But somewhere along the way things changed. He shouldn’t have been surprised, should have seen it coming. She’d wanted more. More time. More definition of just what they were doing. More of him. And it was something he couldn’t give. No, that was a lie. It was something he wasn’t sure he could give. His world, for all its glitz and glamour, was harsh and cruel. It would eat you alive as soon as look at you. She was far too special for something like that. She meant far too much to him.

He’d seen it happen. Both to women in his past and to the partners of friends and colleagues. Innocent people with their lives dissected and turned inside out simply because of who they loved. It was brutal and he couldn’t stomach it. Not this time. Not with this woman. Though he’d never said the words aloud, not even to himself, he loved her. He loved her smile, her warmth, her understanding. She was funny and kind and everything he was far too scared to want.

And he hated himself for it. Hated that he was, after everything, too much a coward to let himself be happy. _No_ , he told himself. Not a coward. I’m protecting her. This life wasn’t worth it. In the end _he_ wasn’t worth it. It was far better to end it now before everything crashed and burned. He’d lived through a similar wreckage once and he didn’t think he would do it again. Not this time. Not with this woman.

So he’d ended it. He’d been as kind about it as he could be. He’d been cool but not cold, or at least he’d hoped he’d been; telling that while what they had shared had been wonderful, he simply wasn’t looking for anything more. That she was an amazing person, but it wasn’t going to work.

She’d borne it far better than he’d expected, quietly waiting until he’d said his peace before smiling in a way that broke his heart. She murmured her understanding and had asked him to leave. So he had. He kept walking. It was better this way. God, maybe if he kept telling himself that he’d actually believe it.

He’d heard her choked sob as the door closed behind him and it had taken all he had to not turn back and apologize. To tell her that he hadn’t meant it, that this wasn’t what he wanted. To beg her forgiveness. But he had forced himself on. The damage had been done, trying to undo it now would only lead to more damage farther along and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let that happen.

But understanding that didn’t make it any easier. It did little to tamper the pain and the lingering sense of guilt. He’d hurt her and that would never sit well with him. Even if he had done it for all of the right reasons.

 _Were they the right ones though?_ He shrank from the thought. He didn’t want to let himself explore the idea that he’d been wrong. That he had been selfish and self-centered. That she had the right to decide if this, if they, were something she could handle. And he had taken that choice from her.

He shook his head, trying to clear those thoughts from his mind. Dwelling on this wouldn’t do him any good. For good or ill, it was over and he would have to learn to live with that.

 

_When the road starts to bend and the signal ends and only static’s coming through_  
_I think about the things you said, they echo in my head_  
_I’m alone ‘cause I know that its true_  
_And songs they don’t sound the same without you in the passenger seat_  
_Without you in the passenger seat_

She paced around the living room. She couldn’t seem to make herself sit still. She was angry and sad and, if she was being completely honest with herself, not terribly surprised with how everything had ended.

Rosemary Mathews prided herself in being practical to a fault. Life was what it was and there was little use in wishing it wasn’t.

He hadn’t been for her, she’d known it from the moment they’d met. But she’d let herself get swept up anyway. She’d let herself believe that maybe, just maybe it could work. It had started small. Just a handful of stolen moments, beautiful little memories she both loved and despised. The way he would smile at her. The sound of his laugh. The way his eyes would light up when he talked about something, anything, that had captured his interest. She told herself then to just let it be, to take whatever they were as it came. He’d made her no promises and she hadn’t asked him to.

And it had worked. Or at least it seemed to. He would come to her when he could and spend as much time with her has he could spare. They would laugh and spend hours talking about nothing and everything. They would kiss and touch and explore each other. He’d been a generous lover, giving and taking equally. She’d felt beautiful and powerful and perfect. Sex was something that had clicked so perfectly between them.

But as time had worn on the stolen moments weren’t enough. Somewhere along the way she’d fallen in love. It seemed to happen both gradually and all at once. She couldn’t pin point when she had known, not for sure. But love him she did. She missed him fiercely when he was gone, cherished every phone call and moment he spent with her. He was such a part of her life though physically he was hardly there.

She allowed her love for him to shine through in their brief moments together. She let it linger in every touch, every word. She had known, even then, that saying it aloud would change things and most likely in ways she couldn’t let herself contemplate. But she could show him.

And she had been so fucking sure he felt the same. She had read it in his touch, in the way that he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking. It was in the hundred little things he did. So she had taken a chance. She had pushed for more. Pushed for something solid that they could build upon.

She’d been wrong. So completely off base. And it stung. She’d let herself read far too much into things and he’d run. And she had done nothing to stop him. She had wanted to scream, to curse, to demand that he stop saying those horribly kind but dismissive things and just love her like she believed him to. But she held her tongue. The set of his shoulders had told her that he had made up his mind. He was a stubborn man at the best of times. If this was what he wanted then nothing she could do or say would sway him. So she had let him go.

She didn’t know what to do with herself now. With the jumbled emotions that coursed through her. She felt like everything was coming apart at the seams and she was desperately trying to tie off the loose ends to prevent it from fraying further. She hated it. Hated feeling this way. It would pass, it had to. With time and distance eventually she would pull herself back together and carry on. A little more careworn and a touch battle-shy, but herself again.

It was getting there that would be the hardest part.

She wanted to hate him, it would be so much easier if she did. But she couldn’t, not really. Just because she loved him did not mean he was obligated to return those feelings in kind. He hadn’t been cruel to her. He’d been as kind as one could be in such circumstances. But God, she wanted to hate him.

That, too, would pass. She knew it and until it did she would have to learn to live with it.


End file.
